Month: February 2016

Well read and schooled in the art of Netflix and Chill, independent author Ang D’Onofrio brings enthusiasm and an indomitable spirit to the writerverse. With the tools of the trade always in reach, she is quick to record what she sees for translation later into her bold and inventive fiction. Welcome Ang!

Your character Buster Heywood lives in Aviario. A quick Google tells me that Aviario is in Costa Rica. Is FROM THE DESK OF BUSTER HEYWOOD a South American novel?

Short answer: nope! Long, more interesting answer: I named my fictional Connecticut town “Aviario” (pronounced AY-vee-uh-REE-oh) ages ago, back when it only had two inhabitants. At the time, I had been writing my stories with the characters as animals – think Brian Jacques’ Redwall in a more modern time. But I knew that I’d reach a wider audience with human characters … so the town name became a nod to the characters’ beginnings. It took me until partway through my first draft in college to Google the word, and realize that there were other Aviarios. Here’s a map I made of mine … minus the key, which is still under construction. I keep it hanging next to my desk.

So nice to meet another cat woman. My feline chap is also my muse. Do your kitties contribute to your process?

They supervise. Bella likes to sit on the arm of one writing perch in the living room, but on days when I’m on my laptop, The Sneak sits under my chair and hopes I drop snacks. One of the characters in my second novel, In The Cards, has some strong ties to cats, and I took a lot of inspiration from my girls when I wrote a couple of his scenes.

We met on Twitter. Care to tell the readers how?

It was #1lineWeds that brought us together, back before I started #2bitTues. I noticed the theme of Heuer Lost & Found, and thought,”Hey! I have a mortician character, too. And this lady seems super neat. Maybe I should follow her.” I had no idea what I was in for … but I wouldn’t trade it for the world. Our conversations never fail to make me smile.

Ed. Lol. Morticians have a sense of humor. You didn’t see that coming! *wink wink*

BE SURE AND VISIT ANG AND CREW EVERY TUESDAY ON TWITTER AT #2bitTues, A PLACE WHERE AUTHORS CAN TROT OUT THEIR CHOICE ONE-LINERS FROM WIPS. BE PREPARED TO BE AMAZED.

THE BOOK BLURB:

As lives go, Buster Heywood’s got it pretty good. His job with the town offices of Aviario pays him just enough to keep a roof over his head and food in his kitchen. His job even keeps him free from having to deal with his social anxiety. He’s always seen things a bit different from everyone else, and now that he’s found a comfortable little bubble, he’ll do everything he can to stay inside it.

But life never goes as planned, and a combination of the wrong place and the wrong time warp Buster’s cozy, quiet life into something he would never have imagined. His problems quickly become more than just a contest between his structured worldview and the way things are: soon he’s toeing a line between following his sense of duty and losing himself to a dark, dangerous underworld.

I love the book blurb and immediately think of Winston Smith from Orwell’s 1984. To what extent are we, as individuals, removed from the day to day world outside? Is this by intent or is it beyond our control?

Wow, what a GREAT question! I love getting the Big, Deep Ones. I think both extent and intention depend upon the individual. Introverted people are, no doubt, more removed due to their natures … but it doesn’t stop them from being curious, either (For example: my hero, Buster, avoids face-to-face interaction, but he’s a very, very avid reader, and likes to consider himself knowledgeable). People have a very deep-seated, subconscious drive to protect themselves, and sometimes that protection is so amped-up that it shields us from our community and our world, whether we’re aware of it or not.

I like to think there are levels, too: someone can be a very gung-ho volunteer for their local community, but be oblivious to refugee plights or natural disasters in other countries … or, vice versa. In a way, this sort of protection can be good: too much involvement would, without a doubt, overwhelm a human soul and tear it in too many different directions.

It’s my belief that if we’re lucky enough to notice that subconscious protection, overcome it, and make the effort to involve ourselves with our world, we need to be able to pick and choose our battles. Sometimes, that’s a very hard choice to make: and most of the novels of Aviario deal in one way or another with those choices, and their consequences. For me, the best stories happen when you push a character past their comfort zone and make them grow.

You tote your tools around with you in case inspirational lighting strikes. Care to give us an anecdote?

Several years ago, my dad, bless his stubborn soul, injured his wrist in a fall at his job as a telephone lineman. He was on workman’s compensation, and I had found myself unemployed due to some legal skullduggery at my workplace that ended up, shall we say, putting them completely out of business. So we were stuck with one another, and usually pretty happy about that fact. I went along with him to his check-ups for the injury, and we’d go out to lunch, maybe a movie, and generally make something good out of the miserable hand we’d both been dealt.

I was sitting in the cab of his truck, waiting for him to come out of such an appointment and dealing with an allergy flare-up … his dog, Lucy, loved truck rides to the dump and hardware store. My nose did not love the dander she left behind afterwards. I’d just managed to stop a particularly horrid attack of the sniffles, when I saw a very unique woman heading toward the hospital doors at a fair clip. She was a consummate professional from head to … er, ankle. The neon running shoes were the only exception. I had a tiny little notebook stashed in my purse, and scribbled down the detail. That scribble became one of the plot points of From The Desk of Buster Heywood, and since then, my friends & family have learned to be very patient with me, should I call a grand halt to whatever we’re doing and dive for the notebook. Everything can be used. Everything!

Ed. I hear you, although family are less tolerant, I find, when I go for the notebook in the middle of the night.

Do you Netflix and Chill? If ‘yes’ why? If ‘no’ why?

Oh, I Netflix, all right. My fiancee, Laurel, is a huge TV and movie buff… bigger than me, which is saying something. We’ve been known to burn through a season of something in a weekend, if we don’t have anything planned. Currently our guilty pleasure is the animated Clone Wars series (we’re Star Wars fans), and I’m waiting until she’s in the mood to burn through American Horror Story: Freakshow. As for the Chill part? Well. Let’s keep that private, shall we? Wink wink.

What are you working on right now this minute?

RIGHT NOW THIS MINUTE? These questions. (Sorry. I am a proven Grade-A smartass … something else I got from my father. THANKS, DAD!) Ahem. Beyond that, I’m carving away at the stubborn, knotted block of wood that is my next villain. My third book, The Proper Bearing, is set in a 1970s British Public School, and the sinister Biology professor, Cole Goddard, has been very tight-lipped about himself since last September. I’ve just barely managed to get to the heart of the block, and I can see him much more clearly than I could when I started my draft … so hopefully, by the time Camp NaNoWriMo rolls around in April, I’ll be ready to dive back in. If nothing else, it’s keeping me occupied while I wait for my beta readers’ feedback on In The Cards, so I can spiff it up for its September release!

Ed. I love, love, love NaNoWriMo. It’s the only way I can get new stuff down. Also love the block of wood analogy. Michelangelo said the same thing about marble and the figure inside. He was just taking the extra away, liberating the inner beauty.

I’m going with literature, because my history brain is really out to lunch, today… I’ll probably have brilliant answers for historical figures at about 1 AM this morning, with my luck. My favorite literary female is, hands down, Clarice Starling from Silence of the Lambs. She’s written with such a perfect balance of vulnerability and strength! The scene when she goes to review Frederica Bimmel’s body in the morgue will always be one of my favorite pieces of writing. Clarice draws her strength from such a painful memory and uses it to her advantage: not just to do her job, but to overcome a bit of sexism, as well. I know most people remember her for the showdown in Buffalo Bill’s basement in the film, but the novel gives that morgue scene so many more layers that show her strength.
My favorite literary male is a tougher question: I have a few that fight for first place. Given the gonzo nature of your books, though, I’ll go with the zany answer: Zaphod Beeblebrox! I’ve got a soft spot for characters with huge egos, questionable intellect, and an immense amount of dumb luck – and Zaph takes the cake.

Ed. In your face intellect always bears close examination for the awesome flaws it reveals!

The place you run to?

Great, now I have Madonna’s “This Used To Be My Playground” stuck in my head, thank you for that. I have two. The first is my bedroom, which is a careful mess of ancient books, art from around the world, my mask collection, and a snuggly cat. The second is as close as a gal like me can get to a Mind Palace: the first building in Aviario I ever created. Marlowe House is a big, Victorian mansion, the kind of house I want to own someday, and if I really need to get my head on straight, I go hang out there. Sometimes I sit in the foyer window seat and read, other times I chill out in one character’s bedroom and let him play piano.

Ed. Great answer! And I love Madge BTW.

Your greatest joy?

That lovely high that comes from writing a perfect scene that sucks you in as it unfolds. The world drops away so hard and fast that I forget it’s even there, and I’m always a little baffled when it comes back in around me after I’m done.

Thanks for sharing, luv.

For more on Ang and her books, visit her website at www.angeladonofrio.comwhere you can sign up and receive regular updates.

ABOUT ANG

Angela (or Ang, but never Angie) lives in the Lakes Region of New Hampshire with her lovely fiancee, Laurel, two particularly eccentric cats, and one opinionated conure named Jupiter. She roots the places she creates in the places that she loves, and friends and family may just find hints of the familiar in the streets of Aviario. While writing is not currently her only bread and butter, she spends much of her free time on aspects of the process, toting around her tools of the trade in case inspiration strikes.

KAREN MILLIE-JAMES grew up in north-west London and now lives in the Buckinghamshire countryside with her husband, daughter and their three dogs. Karen founded her international business consultancy practice in 1993 and is widely recognised as an expert in the corporate field, sitting on many boards of directors around the globe in an advisory capacity.

THE SHADOWS BEHIND HER SMILE is Karen’s first novel.

The sequel, Where in the Dark, which continues the story of Cydney Granger,

will be available worldwide later in 2016.

Find out more at www. karenmilliejames.com

Blurb

As soon as corporate forensic specialist, Cydney Granger, hears the crunch of tyres on her driveway, she knows they’ve come to report her husband is dead. After all, Captain Steve Granger had barely left for Afghanistan when she’d had the first of those terrible premonitions.

Although Cydney is a psychic medium, she’s disturbed by her inability to connect with Steve. But when she’s contacted by recently deceased Ray Gordon, he agrees to help her, on one condition – can she put a stop to his brother’s greed and corruption and ensure Ray’s family get the inheritance they deserve?

Sean O’Connell, Steve’s former sergeant, had promised he would always protect Cydney and the children in the event of Steve’s death. However, during Cydney’s investigations into the scrupulous activities of two high-powered businessmen, and when George Edwards appears on the scene intent on pursuing her, Sean finds himself out of his depth.

From the heart of Cydney’s corporate world in London to the ruins of war-torn Damascus, men will stop at nothing to achieve their goals. Faced with secrets, fraud, attempted murder, and blackmail, can Cydney come out of this unscathed? And, after four years, is she ready to let Steve go?

A brilliant plot that combines the heat of the business world with the secrecy of the Special Forces.

In a genre of its own encompassing crime and mystery, this unique thriller is impossible to put down.

A LITTLE Q & A

If this were a Twitter pitch party, you would squeeze your tag line into a 140 characters. Would you like to try?

Transported from the boardroom to war-torn Damascus, the suspense erupts with a background of romance and a hint of the paranormal

Steve Granger – Captain in the Special Forces. A born leader of men. Killed on a secret mission – but his body was never found.

Craig Benton and Robert Crossley – accumulated their wealth through insider dealing and corruption

Ray Gordon – in spirit, desperate to stop his brother, Charles, from defrauding his wife.

Tell me about the title. Are there any hidden subtexts we should know about?

Cydney has everything to the outside world but her feelings are kept firmly under wraps and nobody is allowed in especially as a result of her father dying in her childhood, and losing her husband, Steve. Can she release those shadows and learn to love again with George.

How many books do you have planned?

The sequel, Where in The Dark, will be released towards the end of 2016. There will possibly be a third book in the series. I doubt I can let Cydney go now.

Tell me about your home base. Country or city?

I now live in the Buckinghamshire countryside in a cottage built in the 1890’s which has been extended and modernised. We love the outdoor life with our three dogs.

Are you a fan of self-promotion? What is your weapon of choice? (I love Twitter)

I love the interaction and groups on Facebook. I am still learning about Twitter but the social media scene helps you meet so many new people.

If eyes are the windows to the soul, the telly is the window to writing prompts. What are you watching on the telly these days?

I love period dramas and have just finished watching War and Peace.

Share your method with us.

I have no actual method. I sit down and the story flows. After a few chapters I read through, maybe change things around, then carry on writing. I think through the characterisation and how the various people would react to circumstances, normally in the early hours of the morning when I can’t sleep, or when I’m driving. Sometimes I would think of an amazing sentence or description and have to write it down to use when the occasion arises.

All writing and no play makes the writer suffer. What do you do in your spare time (other than work the day job)?

Believe it or not, I read. I always have done from an early age, especially the classics. I go to the theatre and love musicals. I dance, particularly Ceroc and jive, and play tennis or table tennis.

What’s your guilty pleasure?

Sherbet strawberries!

What are you doing right now this minute?

Watching Would I Lie to You on TV. So funny and makes me laugh out loud.

What’s next?

Continue my writing. Possible radio and TV interviews promoting my background in business, which are in the pipeline.

Excerpt

As Ray left her, albeit reluctantly, his body melting out of the taxi, Cydney’s skin returned to normal. She was now alone and the thoughts of the man faded to be replaced by the nose-to-tail traffic as the taxi driver turned south off the Marylebone Road and into Park Crescent, a beautiful area of London with elegant stuccoed terraced houses forming a semi-circle, which linked to Regents Park opposite. As they moved between the two halves of the crescent, Cydney looked into the private garden and saw between the railings the seven feet high statue of Queen Victoria’s father, Prince Edward, wearing his field marshall uniform. Driving through brought pictures to her mind of old English gentry and peers of the realm visiting in their private carriages.

Turning her attention to the day ahead, Cydney took the opportunity to read through her papers once again. It was important nothing should go wrong and that the client maintained his faith in her. However, thoughts of Ray wouldn’t leave her. She took out her mobile and dialled her assistant.

“Granger Associates – Jennifer Vere-Nicholson speaking.”

Cydney never tired of hearing the sound of the phone answered so professionally by the staff of her own company. Jenny was her right-hand woman and had started work the day she and Steve had established the company. She had built up her own client base and always explained that she was learning from the master. Her father had been knighted several years ago for his contribution to industry and Cydney liked the fact she had such a good pedigree. Jenny was in her mid-twenties and had joined the company straight from university where she’d read law and criminology, deciding she didn’t want to go into law itself but work in commerce. Cydney had taught her the business world she’d come to know and love and now she completely relied on her; she was worth her weight in gold. With no time for small talk she got straight to the point.

“I’m on the way to the meeting but I want you to do a complete check on a company for me called Rayshel Plastics. Get Richard to help you. I want everything by the time I come into the office tomorrow morning.”

“Not much notice then…”

“This is important – full report, records, accounts, criminal stuff.”

Cydney rang off. She knew they could trust Richard. Even though retired from CID he still had an ‘in’ to the powers that be. Now she could sit back and relax a bit whilst they did their work.

THE SHADOWS BEHIND HER SMILE is Karen’s first novel. Where in the Dark, which continues the story of Cydney Granger, will be available worldwide later in 2016.

For those looking for a good psyche out in YA, look to author KC Sprayberry and her characters in The Lie, coming next month on Amazon and through Solstice Publishing. Gritty without gratuity, The Lie offers up heaps of poor judgement and plenty of guilt after a foolish prank goes badly wrong. For older teens.

In her own words; author K.C. Sprayberry:

To understand the lie, someone must answer the question: How well do you know your friends? That is the underlying theme of this young adult psychological thriller. Amy has always been a loyal friend to Jane. Despite her family’s dislike of Jane, Amy continues to support her friend, to take the blame for minor incidents, until a cold Friday night in November that changes the lives of an entire community.

The Lie releases March 4, 2016

Blurb:

For high school siblings, Amy and Bryce, the night began with a football game. Bryce was stuck at home with a cold, brought on by an uncaring coach. Amy was in the stands, playing with the band whose funding had been taken away and given to the football team.

Her best friend, Jane, brought the band together to play a prank on the team in protest.

The prank went wrong. Horribly, tragically wrong.

And the lie that started it all would not stop.

About the Author:

Born and raised in Southern California’s Los Angeles basin, K.C. Sprayberry spent years traveling the United States and Europe while in the Air Force before settling in northwest Georgia. A new empty nester with her husband of more than twenty years, she spends her days figuring out new ways to torment her characters and coming up with innovative tales from the South and beyond.

She’s a multi-genre author who comes up with ideas from the strangest sources. Some of her short stories have appeared in anthologies, others in magazines.

SEE THE TRAILER

MEET THE PROTAGONISTS:

A m y P e a r s o n

Introduce yourself to our readers. Where do you fit into the story? What should we know about you?

Hi, I’m Amy. This is my story, of trying to get rid of a weird friend and also trying to get my family to believe I’m not a total fool. I’m a senior at Landry High School and totally bummed. After all my hard work, I may not be able to go to college next year—because the football team and cheerleaders will get our funding. And that made all of the band so mad that we did something totally off the way… and we… we… we kind of made something really bad happen. I can’t talk about that. It’s too hard to even think about that night and if I do talk about it, a lot of good people are going to get into trouble.

What are your feelings about this story?

Sometimes, I think this story is a great way of showing people that you can’t always trust your friends. But then I start thinking about all the bad that happened for the next year, all the incredibly scary things we learned about the people who were the real masterminds of what happened, and I just want the whole thing to disappear, for it to have never happened. Only, that would be a lie. And that’s what got us here in the first place. A lie. A really big, horrid lie.

How do you feel about being a character in this book?

This is my story. A mistake I made. I’m not happy that people will see me having panic attacks or trying to get rid of a friend who wasn’t a real friend at all, but that’s what happened. We can’t change that now. Would I rather everyone watch my music videos and tell me want a great singer I am? Sure, but that wouldn’t be the whole truth.

The only good thing about this story… well, one of two good things… is Trey. He and I, we had the chance to fall in love. I mean really in love. I’m sure of that now and it hurts to know how sad he is but I’ll always have those special moments. (smiles softly) Do you think they can get Brant Daugherty to play Trey in the movie? You know, that guy from Pretty Little Liars?

What do you see in your future? (No spoilers please!)

My future is kind of going to stay like it is. Can’t really say anything else

Is there another The Lie in the future? Will you be part of it?

I don’t think there will be a sequel to The Lie. If there is, I doubt I’ll be part of it. Can’t say much more now.

Say a movie producer comes knocking. What actor/actress would you want to play you and why?

Oh, Sienna Miller. She looks exactly like me. And I’ve seen all her movies. She’s totally cool.

B r y c e P e a r s o n

Introduce yourself to our readers. Where do you fit into the story? What should we know about you?

Hey, guys, I’m Bryce. A great gunner on the special teams for the Landry High School Wildcats. I’m also Amy’s two years younger brother. She’d want me to tell you that. But I’m more than a pesky brother. I’m the person she comes to whenever Amy gets caught up in a Jane disaster. Let me tell you, Jane is a total loser, a user, and someone that should just fall off the face of the earth.

What should you know about me? Other than the whole on the football thing? Well, I’m not a total jock. I have a 4.0 GPA, with a heavy emphasis on science and math. I want to be a volunteer firefighter with my dad at his station, when I’m old enough, and my future goal is to go to Jacksonville State University in Alabama, be a Gamecock. Oh, and get a date with Ziva from NCIS. That’s one hot chick!

What are your feelings about this story?

This story is important. People have to know about the Jane’s in this world. They’re users. They’ll take down anyone that gets caught in their web of deceit. And mostly, they will destroy anyone who stands in their way of getting what they want.

How do you feel about being a character in this book?

I have to be in this book. The author didn’t want me here except as a minor character at first, but I proved to her that I was necessary. Amy needed someone who had her back. My sis has this incredible talent—she plays five instruments and sings like an angel, but she doesn’t believe in herself. And that’s how come Jane was always using Amy.

What do you see in your future? (No spoilers please!)

My future? I’ll finish high school, help my dad reno houses, and go to Jacksonville State University in Alabama. Beyond that, I don’t really know. A lot of things are up in the air right now, but I won’t ever forget what Jane did to us.

Is there another The Lie in the future? Will you be part of it?

There will always be another The Lie in the future. Users are everywhere, and they never take responsibility for their actions. Will I be part of it? I hope not. I don’t ever want to live through that kind of stuff again.

Say a movie producer comes knocking. What actor/actress would you want to play you and why?

Movie? About our boring lives? (laughs) Yeah, I wish our lives had been normal and boring. I wish we could have booted Jane to the curb a long time ago. But that didn’t happen. So, a movie? Who plays me? Well… Theo James, the dude from Divergent and Insurgent. Yeah, he’s a lot like me. That will work. (Do you think there’s a chance Ziva from NCIS will be in the film too?)

J a n e P r e s t o n

Introduce yourself to our readers. Where do you fit into the story? What should we know about you?

I am Jane Preston. Don’t believe those Pearson’s. They’ll say anything to make me look bad. I can’t believe they would dare to open their mouths, after all the trouble they caused me. It’s Amy’s fault all this happened. She was the one that planned the whole problem, right from the beginning. She’s such a wuss. Always crying. Always wanting Mommy to like her. She needs to get a life. (emotionless laugh) Like that will happen now.

What are your feelings about this story?

Well, if it was the truth, more about how much of a troublemaker Amy was, it would be good. But it’s not. The whole thing is all wrong. Amy was the one that planned stuff, but then she’d chicken out and I’d have to step in and fix her messes. That dummy couldn’t do anything without Mommy’s approval, and Mommy didn’t like me. And I could never convince Amy to stop being such a Mommy’s brat.

How do you feel about being a character in this book?

Boring! Totally boring. Nobody asked me how I felt about all these lies those pathetic losers told about me. They didn’t care that my dreams got all messed up. All everyone did was talk bad about me. How awful is that? Nobody cares about me.

What do you see in your future? (No spoilers please!)

Oh, my future is great. As soon as I get away from these losers, I’ll have a lot of fun. JSU as a college is a total loss. I’ll be going to a much better college in a few years. Everybody thinks I’m stuck in this place, but they’re wrong. I’ll get away, as soon as everyone believes what a little loser Amy is.

Is there another The Lie in the future? Will you be part of it?

Gawd! I hope so. And whoever writes it better get it right this time. That dummy that was talking to Bryce and Amy all the time only got their “oh poor me” story. Dummy didn’t bother to talk to me, to figure out that I was only making all the losers in the world pay. I mean—who cares what happened to all those people? They were a total loss all their lives.

Say a movie producer comes knocking. What actor/actress would you want to play you and why?

Please let there be a movie. I’ll get a lot of money from it. And I’ll be able to go to a really great college without everyone hearing about pathetic Amy and her loser brother, Bryce. Who should play me? Jena Malone. She rocks. She’s that actress from the Hunger Games and she will do me very well. But she has to come see me, talk to me about how to make the movie more about me and the problems those stupid Pearsons gave me.

It gives me great pleasure to introduce to you debut novelist Jewel E. Leonard. Jewel and I struck up an immediate friendship when we crossed twitter paths on Ang D’Onofrio’s #2bitTues one liner theme party for WIPs.

There’s a lot to love about Jewel. Not only is she fast with a quip, but she is a cat woman like yours truly! There’s more: her collection of male chicken sculptures (cocks) and her penchant for hot, steamy, erotic passages has translated into a toe curler of a read. Check out the blurb and excerpt and then dash down to the interview. My ears are burning!

THE BLURB

Fresh from a failed marriage, Rhea hops on a train going from Los Angeles to Chicago. It’s the perfect escape from her troubles with the added bonus of meeting a sexy stranger. What begins as innocent flirtation swiftly escalates to sexual encounters beyond her wildest dreams.

THE EXCERPT

“I’m gonna go out on a limb here and guess that your ex wasn’t the complimentary type.”

Rhea’s hands traveled down to Surfer Boy’s shoulders where she transitioned into a deep tissue massage. He groaned, bracing himself against the seat. She otherwise failed to acknowledge his statement. She preferred to leave Mark out of this.

Unlike last night, Rhea watched what she touched. The way his t-shirt pulled and puckered over his skin. Rhea clenched her jaw, making a conscious effort to keep her arousal at bay. But—as they had both demonstrated previously—blood was apt to flow wherever it damn well pleased. Her core throbbed despite her efforts to repress it; the best she could do was to focus on him with what little concentration she had to spare.

She alternated between deep tissue and Swedish massages, at times doing nothing more than running her hands over his muscles and lamenting that he hadn’t taken off his shirt first.

He repositioned himself so that he was sitting in the seat the way its designers intended. Rhea leaned forward and rested her hands on his knees, her v-neck shirt gapping away from her chest. When Surfer Boy inhaled, she saw how his eyes locked onto her exposed skin. “That’s . . . swell,” he breathed.

Her gaze dropped to his crotch: That was swell, too. She smiled. “So which muscle is giving you grief?” Her hands slid up the length of both thighs, stopping so close to his crotch that she could feel the fabric of his shorts straining over his hard-on.

“That one.” Surfer Boy nodded to his left leg.

She slowly assessed his muscle spasm with both hands, her smiling broadening. “You are aware that I can totally tell you’re faking your cramp.”

“How else was I gonna get you to touch me there and still look cool about it?”

“You don’t need to play these games.” Her thumb slid across his zipper. He pushed back from beneath it. “I’m alone in a confined space with you already. You closed the door and the curtains and I didn’t protest either.” Rhea raised her eyebrows pointedly.

Surfer Boy lifted her face by the chin, meeting her gaze. “Kiss me.”

She leaned in, pressing her lips to his; she could swear there was a spark between them, but it was possible that it was just static electricity. Albuquerque—or the air aboard the train, anyway—was dry.

He tilted his head, gliding a hand up the nape of her neck. Rhea sighed. She felt him smile against her lips.

“. . . What?” She asked, pulling back.

“I liked that sound. And I wanna hear you make it again.”

“I’m sure there are plenty of ways to make me sigh. Or . . .” Rhea bit her lip. “To get me to make even better sounds.”

“Is . . . that . . . an invitation?”

Oh just screw me already! She chose a more diplomatic reply, instead: “As a general rule, I don’t touch my clients’ willies.”

“As a general rule?”

“Allow me to translate . . . I’ve never done that.” With a coy little smile, she added, “I also don’t go around kissing strangers. You’re the exception to all those rules, so . . .”

“So.” Surfer Boy brushed back her hair, sliding his hand down her neck to her collarbone. Further down he went until he cupped her left breast through her shirt and squeezed it with restraint.

She moaned, her head tipping back. “Yes.”

“Oh that is a better sound.” Surfer Boy kissed the side of her neck. His kisses turned to sucking and she leaned into him with a deeper moan. She shuddered and sighed.

Rhea was having the inarguable need to be free of her underwear…

LINKS

THE INTERVIEW

Tell me about your new novel.

Tales by Rails is a 28,000 word novella, which makes it the shortest completed writing project I’ve ever done. The novella follows Rhea’s escapades immediately following her divorce. She’s without a home when she decides to take an unplanned vacation from her problems—so she hops on a train going from Los Angeles to Chicago (the Southwest Chief—a route I’ve traveled many times over). She’s open to adventure as she has no plans for her future, which is good because the sexy stranger she meets on the train wouldn’t factor into them. What starts as innocent flirtation swiftly escalates to adult encounters beyond her wildest imagination . . . and before the 43 hour train ride is over, Rhea finds herself facing a whole new set of problems.

I’m all for a good pas de deux, but the up against the wall encounters played out on television and in film seem to be at hyper saturation levels? Can you account for the popular preoccupation with vertical coital?

I could take a stab at it, I suppose. My best explanation for the popularity of showing not a horizontal mambo but a vertical one is because the average person in the real world has neither the physique nor the stamina . . . nor the prowess . . . nor the health insurance coverage . . . to successfully do, if you will, such acrobatics.
I won’t name names but I personally know a great many women who fantasize about being pressed against a wall (to put it politely) but who can’t seem to manage the mechanics of such feats with their partners. There’s also the lack of wall space in the average person’s home to contend with.
Lastly, I think it looks better to viewers to have lovers upright rather than on their backs, particularly women—in that case, gravity is their breast friend. When laying down, things tend to flatten or ooze into armpits without a bra (and let’s face it, if they can get away with showing chest meat, they will). If you’re going for realism, there’s nothing wrong with a little chesticle displacement. But this is Hollywood we’re talking about, right. . .?

A fine, practical answer with a bit of humor. I love it!

E.L. James has taken plenty of critical hits for FIFTY SHADES OF GREY yet her choke hold on the mommy porn market remains solid. In your opinion, is she getting a raw deal?

In all things sex, I think discussing this phenomenon is about as taboo as taboo things get. Erotica writers like me have to be careful if we’re going to criticize James because our audience is sipping from the same chalice as hers. We don’t want to support it either because there are folks who will think less of our work if we associate with hers positively. Damned if you do, damned if you don’t.

As a person with feelings, I think it’s horrible the way people treat her. I think it’s safe to assume she has feelings, too, and I like believing she did the best she knew how. Lord knows I am!
I think the critics of literature need to have some perspective when they assess Fifty Shades of Grey (the reaction to The Flintstones movie comes to mind—what did you expect? It was a movie based off The Flintstones . . . Not gonna be fine art!). It’s erotica, not classic literature.
(Would I like to see higher standards for self-pubbed erotica? As a reader, hell yes please.)
I can’t and won’t touch upon the debate on BDSM because I have no first-hand knowledge of anything BDSM. I can’t and won’t touch upon the underlying problems posed by the book and the relationship the main characters have, as I read very little of the first book myself (page one and the first sex scene before I NOPE’d right out of there). Nothing against James, but her writing was not my cup of tea.

I do, of course, make a passing reference to it in my novella because it seems these days you can’t have a talk about sex and not bring it up. 🙂 If you read my novella following this review, you’ll see where I injected a bit of my reality into Rhea’s existence when it comes to the topic of Fifty Shades.

We’re definitely on the same page here!

Playboy Magazine is getting out of porn art photography with Pam Anderson as the final centerfold. Has a battle been lost or won?

For Playboy to cease photographing nude women is throwing in the towel. The plethora of pornography on the Internet squeezed the life out of an empire and I am, frankly, stunned it took that company as long as it did to give up the ghost. With the Internet, all kinks are easily accessible and in many places even free . . . (I’m lookin’ at you, Tumblr! Not a complaint at all, just an observation.) Could they find a new niche? I’m sure they could. Would it be cost-effective? In any way successful? Couldn’t tell ya.

Sensual encounters with strangers are among the top fantasies for men and women. Do these always result in happy endings in your fiction?

*Nudge. Nudge.* Let the reader find out!

So what’s wrong with being on Team Slytherin?

For the life of me, I can’t figure it out. I’ve been placed in Slytherin by several Sorting Hats and I’m fairly certain it’s because I always say I want recognition. When seeking recognition became a villainous trait, I don’t know. But I will tell you this:
I have always thought snakes are beautiful.

Clarification: Jewel gave me her top ten list of getting to know the author points. Here it is:

AUTHOR TOP TEN

My longing for success has always earned me a spot in Slytherin when I take those Hogwarts house sorting quizzes online.

My poisons of choice are coffee, cola and chocolate. And Red Wines.

I’ve been writing since the early 80s. One of the earliest stories I remember writing was about a runaway. Tales by Rails? About a runaway. Some things never change.

I have a neck fetish. I may also have a thing for a finely groomed mustache.

I wrote smut in elementary school. It was so dirty that when my parents found it, they wouldn’t allow my older brothers to read it. (I didn’t know a thing about what I was writing.)

I have a cock collection. My roosters range from ceramic to wood to metal and they are all over my kitchen. My husband always tells me to pick up another decoration when he sees them on sale.

I’m writing my dearly departed kitty into a novel. She’s going to be a vampire.

I love music. The more I listen, the more I write.

Like Surfer Boy, I’ve never stepped foot on a plane. I have traveled much of the United States and into Vancouver, British Columbia. I love road trips and train rides! I collect key chains from states I’ve driven through.

No matter how hopeless I feel, no matter how likely I am to fail in this endeavor . . . I will keep going. I always do. As long as the stories are there, I’ll write them.

I recently rewatched BEYOND THE VALLEY OF THE DOLLS (1970), the ‘go to’ dirty movie in my time. What was yours?

I’ve heard tales of a movie called Debbie Does Dallas but I’m pretty sure it’s just an urban legend. 😉
One of these days I think I need to watch it when my son’s at school. For . . . research purposes. Yeah.

What will you do with your kitchen cocks when you run out of space?

I’m a long way from that point, sadly. But should the time come, I have no doubt that the cocks will propagate into other rooms of the house. There’s space on top of our bookshelves and I have a half-empty antique China Cabinet . . .

This might be a good time to open the doors to the henhouse!

I agree that a well-groomed mustache can be comely, but if given the right circumstances would you ever give a full beard a try?

I’m not a huge fan of the full beard. It takes impeccable grooming and just the right face to pull that off. I like my honey with a neatly trimmed Goatee (actually, it’s a Van Dyke).
Before I get hate-mail for not being gung-ho about full beards, let me just say my father has a full beard (that is kept groomed but has been around longer than I have). So . . . yeah. To quote Chandler from FRIENDS: “Can open . . . Worms everywhere . . .”

Lol. Fair enough. On a serious note:

My condolences on the loss of your kitty. Tell me how (he/she) inspired a vampire character in your next work?

Thank you. My first kitty (after a lifetime of pining for one) went to the Rainbow Bridge the day after Christmas in 2012. She was my constant companion, kept me company while I was on bedrest with my son. Never left my side through my ill-fated second pregnancy. She was the best kitty a girl could ask for. It was only natural to want to immortalize her. A vampire (vampurr) seemed like just the way.

Her name was Miranda. When it came to affection, she got overstimulated quickly and turned to love bites as a means of defense. And every time she nibbled, she’d lick us afterward in apology. When hubby and I were hashing out some of that future book, I said I wanted to have some vampires in my paranormal universe. One careless comment led to another about this sexy but naive vamp who would bite her (lucky) victims and then lick their necks afterward and the next thing I knew, Miranda the kitty became Miranda the vampire.
I’m so excited to tell her story (but alas, it’s a few books down the road)!

What are you doing right now this minute?

I’m watching as my new cat, Pandora, wanders down the hall in search of mischief. My 20 month-old daughter is working on getting to her feet at her toy piano. My boys (hubby and son) are playing Minecraft on either side of me. My phone is buzzing like crazy (my Starbucks app is out of date, I can’t stand for that!). And I’m finishing this interview. Thank you so much for the smiles and some really interesting, challenging questions!

Thanks for stopping by Jewel. Best of luck with your sizzling new book!

Bio: Toronto born author A.B. Funkhauser is a funeral director, classic car nut and wildlife enthusiast living in Ontario, Canada. Like most funeral directors, she is governed by a strong sense of altruism fueled by the belief that life chooses us and we not it. Her debut novel HEUER LOST AND FOUND, released in April 2015, examines the day to day workings of a funeral home and the people who staff it. Her sophomore effort, SCOOTER NATION, is set for release March 13, 2016 through Solstice Publishing.

Favorite thing about being a writer: Being able to push boundaries well beyond what we, as an ordered society, can tolerate and to be able to do so with humor…

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Blog Funkhauser is thrilled to welcome back fellow northerner Susanne Matthews. As usual, the prolific author has been busy releasing THE WHITE IRIS, her third in the HARVESTER SERIES. Congratulations mon amie!

About The White Iris

Time’s running out for Special Agent Trevor Clark and his FBI task force. They’re no closer to uncovering the identity of the Prophet, a dangerous serial killer who has been murdering new mothers and vanishing with their infants. If Trevor can’t unlock the clues, the killer’s threats to unleash what the FBI suspects is biological warfare could mean death for all of them. His only recourse is to swallow his pride and reach out to his former fiancée, the CDC’s renowned virologist, Dr. Julie Swift.

Two years ago, Julie ended their engagement after Trevor abandoned her when she needed him most. Now, faced with the possibility of the greatest epidemic since the Spanish flu, she has to put her faith and her safety, as well as that of countless others, into the hands of a man she doesn’t trust. Can they set aside their differences to stop the Prophet, and in doing so, will they find the love they lost?

From the streets of Boston to the wilds of Alaska, this thrilling conclusion to the Harvester Series takes several turns you won’t see coming!

Excerpt

Trevor ran his hand through his hair, frustrated by his inability to find the answers he so desperately needed. Here it was, two-thirds of the way through September, and despite the man-hours involved and the stack of bodies piled up by that madman and his henchmen, he was no closer to stopping the Prophet today than he’d been when he’d started. Sure, they’d made some inroads—hurt him, taken away the people he wanted—but it wasn’t enough. The Prophet and God alone knew how many followers were still out there, watching and waiting, and the task force, half of whom were now on the injured list, was powerless to stop him. No one would be safe until they could neutralize that son of a bitch, but how the hell did you prevent someone from doing something when you had no idea who he was, exactly what he planned, or where and when he’d do it? To make matters worse, the sick bastard still seemed to be one step ahead of them.

The Prophet, furious about losing the women and children in the successful New Hampshire raid in July, had targeted the task force, threatening to unleash ten plagues—another biblical event Trevor could do without—unless his people were freed and returned to him. The first, based on the premise of turning water into blood, had been a pipe bomb three weeks ago in a pub frequented by Boston police officers and the task force members. He’d lost one man and another was crippled and might never walk again. In addition, two innocent people had been killed and several others injured.

While the fact that the deadline for the second plague had come and gone without any new bodies dropped in his lap should please Trevor, knowing that each day that went by without any action on their part gave the Prophet time to perfect his biological weapon did not. The people whom his nemesis had requested, the brethren captured in July, had recanted their beliefs and were in Australia, safely out of the maniac’s reach, living on Evergreen, Jacob Andrews’s fruit farm in the Northern Territory. The Australian millionaire, an undercover police officer who frequently worked with Interpol, was currently seconded to the FBI. Jacob had grown up in the New Horizon commune before it had morphed into the sick cult it was now. He’d provided priceless insight into the commune as well as his uncle, the Prophet.

James Colchester’s children, Jacob’s nieces and nephews, the objectives of Garett Pierce’s one-man killing and kidnapping spree in early September, were also in Australia, some at Evergreen with the “settlers,” as the former members of the commune called themselves, others with their mothers in Melbourne, where Jacob; Lilith Munroe, Trevor’s cult expert and BAU analyst; and Rob Halliday were recuperating from injuries sustained in the fight two weeks ago with Pierce, the FBI agent who turned out to be their mole and the Prophet’s right-hand man.

What had Julie said? Call me if you get a credible threat. They had proof the Prophet’s henchmen could build bombs and that he had an army of angry, disenchanted teens ready to do anything for him, but they still didn’t know exactly what he planned to do or how he’d do it.

Thanks to Jacob, they’d narrowed it down to a biological weapon, but what? A poisonous gas? A nerve agent? Some kind of super flu? All three? Jacob said the Prophet had referred to dengue fever as causing a great burning inside, a cleansing, but how would he distribute something like that?

Trevor wished he could call Julie, talk to her about which virus might be the most devastating, but now wasn’t the time. She might still be in Colorado. He should’ve gone to Ellie’s memorial service in Atlanta, but … Would Julie have wanted him there? As she’d clearly demonstrated in July, he meant nothing to her now. He’d burned that bridge, pylons and all, two years ago. His presence would just have complicated matters for them both, dredging up memories of the first funeral he’d failed to attend.

Keep telling yourself that.

Avoiding difficult personal situations was a time-honored Clark family tradition.

The White Iris is the third book and final book in the Harvester Series

Book One, The White Carnation, begins the hunt for a serial killer kidnapping pregnant women, murdering them, and then vanishing with the newborn infants. But there is much more to the crime than the detectives on the case can possibly imagine.

Book Two, The White Lily, continues the hunt, but the Harvester is angry, determined to reclaim what he sees as his, not caring how many have to die for him to achieve his goal.

About the author:

A former high school teacher, Susanne Matthews lives in Ontario, Canada, with her husband, the inspiration for all her heroes. When she’s not writing, she enjoys camping in summer and romantic getaways in winter. Find Susanne Matthews at:www.mhsusannematthews.ca/, on Facebook, and on Twitter @jandsmatt.

I don’t know about you, but mixing football with a lot of intrigue is a WIN WIN 10 times out of 10. Check out this excerpt from SACKED & TACKLED by Palessa. Then click the link and read some more…Oh, and it’s pretty HOT too.

Excerpt:

One of the dishes slipped from Niveah and Tobey swiftly caught it.

“Great reflexes. I’m going to have to add you to my Fantasy lineup.”

Tobey stopped short. “Add me?”

He turned to her, his hands dripping. Niveah stifled a smile as she remembered how sensitive he was about the subject. She backed up slowly, and he followed. “Um, well, look at the time.” She looked at her wrist and realized she didn’t wear a watch. “I think I had better be going.”

Just as she turned and was about to bolt, she felt wet hands grab her shirt and pull her back.

“Tobey Fine, you’re getting me all wet.”

Tobey groaned, his breath warm against her ear. “God, I hope so.” He kissed the sensual line of her neck as she felt him fist her shirt. Niveah rubbed her hand over his forearm, giving him more access to her neck. Her nipples puckered against the inside of her bra.

“Niveah,” his voice was low and gruff, “I can’t fight this anymore.” He kissed her slowly as his hands moved across her abdomen, pressing her back closer to him. “If you want me to stop, tell me.”

She turned in his arms and hooked her arms around his neck. His brown eyes sparkled as they pleaded with her to tell him what he wanted to hear. She could feel his hands urgently caressing her back.

It’s my great pleasure to introduce to you Marnie Cate, a young adult fantasy author chasing her dreams with the same energy and verve as the characters she creates. Today on Blog Funkauser, she revisits REMEMBER: PROTECTORS OF THE ELEMENTAL MAGIC. She does this in advance of her next release EXIGENCY. Coming Soon.

Congrats, Marnie!

Synopsis

Hiding the truth from you is no longer protecting you. Sit and I will tell you what you need to know.

With those words, the secrets of my great grandmother, Genevieve Silver, were unburied and my role as a protector of the elemental magic was revealed.

My name is Marina Addisyn Stone but Mara is what my friends and family call me. I had always felt that there was something missing and that nothing was permanent. Why would I feel that way? I was being raised with my little sister by my grandmother that loved and doted on me. Then, there was Cole Sands. Who could forget the blue-eyed boy that had stolen my heart? What more could a girl need? I always thought I was just being dramatic and that bad things do happen to people but that is part of life. People die. People go away. Little did I know that with one secret, my life would change forever and my new world would be surrounded by the world of elemental magic?

Excerpt

As I felt my determination build, the mirror in front of me began to change and the reflection filled with rippling water. The image made me think of the choppy water of Sparrow Lake. At first, the small waves were calm but the speed and intensity of each movement of the water grew. I found myself being splashed as the waves grew harder and began to slap against the mirror. Standing up, I moved away just in time to watch the mirror before me shatter and the violent water burst out towards me.

The room began to fill with rushing water. Feeling around the room, I searched for an exit. Behind the shattered mirror, I only found solid rock. Looking to the ceiling, I could see the same hard stone. Feeling the emotions build inside me, I began search the floor and walls around me for any exit.

“Damn! Damn! Damn it!” I cried.

The water did not slow. Instead it continued to fill the room as I frantically searched for my escape. The water soon reached my knees and, what seemed like seconds later, I was wading through waist high water. As the water continued to rise, I was soon struggling to keep my head above water. It was not enough that the water was filling the room so rapidly but soon the water felt alive. The cold waves kept tossing me back and forth as the water rose and I began to feel like I was in a game of Ping-Pong where I was the ball. Soon, I found myself pulled under the icy water and surrounded by thousands of bubbles. Frantically kicking my feet to keep my head above water, I broke the surface.

Remembering the swimming lessons my grandfather insisted on, I thought about the times I spent with my grandfather learning to swim. I began to feel less scared as I recalled his calm voice and gentle words telling me that I would be safe. As I floated in the rising water, it seemed to respond to my emotions. The thrashing became calmer as I focused on my grandfather’s words. My brief moment of peace did not last. Before I knew it, I had almost reached the ceiling that had no exit and I began to panic. At this rate, I would be trapped and drowned in minutes. As if it was feeding off my fear, the water began to toss me around again.

As the water began to rise up my neck and almost over the top of my head, I tried to calm myself. You are the granddaughter of Mae Veracor and the great granddaughter of Genevieve Silver. You are the descendent of strong women. You have nothing to fear. With these words, the water once again calmed and I was able to tilt my head back above the water. How am I going to get out of this?

Remember: Protectors of the Elemental Magic is on sale $0.99 / £0.99 Kindle from February 5th – 11th 2016

Author Biography

Marnie Cate was born and raised in Montana before adventuring to the warmer states of Arizona and California. Her love of Dame Judi Dench and dreams of caticorns and rainbows inspired her to chase her dreams. One great sentence came to mind and the world of elemental magic and the humans they lived amongst filled her mind. With Remember, the story has begun.

Other Works by Marnie Cate

Exigency: Protectors of the Elemental Magic – Coming Soon

The story of Mara Stone continues. Her world was shaken but she is a fighter. Facing new adversaries, Mara is learning what it truly means to protect the magic.

Every year it’s the same. Halloween lurches into All Souls Day marked not by an ephemeral calm associated with remembrance, but by the roll out of decorative Christmas balls at the mall. Not that I’m opposed to Christmas balls—I love ’em, ’specially the ones soaked in rum—but the accelerated race to Christmas marked by a way too early jump off from Fall, left me breathless and wonting. Unlike the mall, I just couldn’t seem to get the tree up in November, and this has caused me no end of residual grief now.

Tree pitching always seems early, but this year more acutely so. I didn’t hoist mine until four days before the 25th. It was probably because of the foot I broke on Labor Day, which forced me inside for six wretched weeks, and then detained me further when cold temps and sheet ice hit the pavement outside.

“Yer doin’ great,” the doc assured, “but don’t fall anymore.”

Good advice that I could accept after a heck of a lot of soul searching. I’m of a ‘certain age,’ that euphemism that heralds all sorts of happy portents including a declining interest in matching panty and lace bra sets on sale at the same mall with the trees, and a stark realization that short sleeved minis with hems cut up to the cooch are no longer for me.

But I digress…

In coming late to the Christmas tree party, I find myself on St. Brigid’s Day still looking at my Christmas tree which blinks back at me with a joyous multicolor light patina that promises so many things. I am not alone in this. Many, I’ve learned, hold on to their festive trees long after Boxing Day, New Years Day, St. Brigid’s Day.

Maybe this hints at something more lasting; a new way of holding on to something dear?

My friend the spin doctor assures me that there are alternative interpretations for all kinds of things in all kinds of universes: we tree loving folk just need one to suit our arbors.

Works for me: One need never feel self conscious ever again for coming late to the party and then refusing to leave.

It’s taken awhile to digest the events of January 2016. It will take longer to come to grips with the loss of one of the most diverse artists of all time. Whether you were a fan or not, you were familiar with David Bowie. Mime, musician, actor, designer and all round Renaissance man who sang with Bing Crosby because “his mum liked him,” Bowie had something for every age. His wife, in her own words, married David Jones. The persona belonged to the fans. The Folkie, The Mod, The Spaceman, Alien, Pirate, Spider from Mars; Ziggy Stardust, Thin White Duke and Diamond Dog, traveling from Station to Station; the Eighties man in the yellow suit, waiting so long, looking back in anger? No. Never. A Nineties man in a Tin Machine pulling nails with Trent Renzor, retiring to reflect, heal and posit; Lazarus leaving a parting gift in a Black Star and possibly more releases in 2017.

The stars look very different to me today, not because he’s gone, but because I finally understand what he was: A shining diamond who made it okay to be different. Since his passing, I’ve dug out my old platforms, dusted off my vinyl and have taken to drawing again. I smile as I take a break from the WIP (work in progress) to work on my Blue Bowie.